Of Skulls and Resurrections
by Sandylee007
Summary: It's the first Christmas since Sherlock's return from the dead. Will a visit to the hospital clear things out between the friends? Injuries are soothed, in more ways than one. ONESHOT


A/N: It's ALMOST too late, but I finally managed to post this! (BEAMS) We'll see how this lil' Christmas fic turned out. This – the first Christmas since THE RETURN – is a deleted scene that's been occupying my mind.

WARNINGS: some language, mention of injuries… Woah, now that's short!

DISCLAIMER: Oh, if only…! But nope, I own nothing. It's acceptable to dream though, isn't it?

Awkay, because I know that you want to get to the story… Let's rock! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

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><p><strong><em>Of Skulls and Resurrections<em>**

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><p>'<em>Silent Night, Holy Night<em>' echoed from the radio that someone had left on uncomfortably close and the soft notes were eagerly feeding Dr. John Watson's constantly increasing headache. It was supposed to be the first Christmas as an official couple he'd spend with Mary. Ending up to A&R with a concussion, a nastily bleeding yet relatively harmless stab wound and a mighty load of bruises wasn't a part of the plan.

But then again, now that Sherlock bloody Holmes was back in the picture he should've known to expect the unexpected, he mused far more fondly than he should've. Yes. The concussion was most certainly doing the thinking for him.

And then he was chuckling.

Sherlock, who'd been watching him intently since… _then_, was alerted instantly. The detective frowned. "You alright?"

John nodded, unable to stop the giggles although they were giving his head a hell. "Yes, yes. Just… This is our… third, I guess, case since…" _Since you swanned your way back from the dead._ He gestured towards his battered figure. "And here we are. And… And this is the happiest I've been in almost three years. What does that say about me?"

Under different circumstances he might've been fascinated by the mixture of emotions on Sherlock's face. Guilt, happiness, longing, cautious hope, worry… But it all faded away in a microsecond, leaving him wondering if it was ever there at all. "It says that you've suffered a massive blow to the head and you're unable to think properly." There was nothing witty and snarky to follow, which alone should've sent alarm bells ringing. The taller man got up, beginning to pace around the room like a caged tiger. "Now where is that nurse? She was supposed to be back in ten minutes."

John snorted. "You probably scarred her for life. I'm surprised that she didn't call the security to drag you out of here." He shrugged and yawned, already dreaming of crawling into his own bed. It wasn't like he'd be allowed to sleep but the idea of resting in that comforting warmth was beyond alluring. "It's Christmas Eve, Sherlock. They've got a rush hour going on."

Sherlock muttered something inaudible under his breath, eyes darkening and squinting slightly. Then folded his arms like a sulking child and sunk back to the chair that'd been dragged very, very close to John's bed. To most the expression might've seemed irritated or bored. But perhaps some of the detective's deduction skills had rubbed off on John because all of a sudden he saw so much more.

Sherlock's forehead had several new wrinkles and the color of the man's skin was paler than it should've been. There was such an amount of tension that if he'd pulled the chair from under the younger man the detective wouldn't have fallen to the floor. The clearest tell tale sign, however, was the trembling that'd taken over the tightly fisted hands.

John's heart swell and for the first time since waking up from his brief unconsciousness he forgot his headache. "Sherlock…", he murmured softly, feeling oddly touched. "Hey, look at me." He refused to continue until the sleuth did, with a visible amount of reluctance. "I'm fine, alright? So yeah, I'll have a new scar and my head's hurting but I'm _fine_. It could've been a lot worse." Hell, if the knife went a little to the side…!

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "You shouldn't have had even these injuries!" the tall Brit barked, voice shaking with fury and something else. "This is only… the third case and you ended up to a hospital. What if…?"

This time John's eyes narrowed. He interrupted the detective with the harshest tone he could muster. "There is no 'what if' Sherlock", he pointed out sharply, somehow managing to gain his distraught friend's full attention. "I'm only going to say this once so listen closely. If I never met you… I'm pretty sure that I'd be in a grave. And if you didn't come back…" He gritted his teeth, looking down at his fisted hands. "Well, there's no 'what if'. Understood?"

He knew that his friend nodded from the sound of the man's clothes sighing.

Having gathered himself for a few seconds John looked up once more, a small smile on his lips. The gesture hurting and probably looking horrid with all the bruising on his face be damned. He almost wanted to laugh when he noticed that his friend had bruises of his own. A proper pair, the two of them made. For the first time since Sherlock's _return_ their eyes locked and held properly. Seeing and observing. "I regret quite a bit of things but never _this_. Ever."

For a moment he was almost sure that he saw tears in Sherlock's eyes but it was probably just a trick of his imagination. The detective's fingers twitched, almost reaching out. Almost.

"You're not allowed to fall asleep yet, John."

Funny, John didn't realize that he'd closed his eyes until Sherlock spoke. He sighed half miserably, blinking his eyes open with a small degree of difficulty. What he would've given for twenty minutes of shut eye…

That was when he remembered something. He turned his head, realizing that at some point Sherlock had gotten up and was now stood before the room's window, looking out with his back to him. "There's… something in my bag. I hope it wasn't broken, what with the whole ruckus. It's a Christmas present."

Sherlock looked at him with a frown. Despite the dark the taller man's eyes seemed oddly red and moist. "We weren't supposed to exchange gifts."  
>John smirked. "Well, technically it's giving back something that's yours. Just… Take it."<p>

After a bit of hesitation Sherlock obeyed. With furrowed eyebrows the tall man searched through his bag, finally spotting what he'd talked about. There was a half confused, half surprised blink before a finally even hand pulled out a very, very familiar skull.

John couldn't hold back a smile. "Mrs. Hudson… She would've thrown him away. I saved him for you."

Sherlock seemed curiously touched for a second or two. The man cleared his throat. "Well… Thank you." The detective then frowned. "I don't have anything for you."

"You died for me and then came back from the dead", John pointed out. Under different circumstances he might've been embarrassed by how his voice broke, just a little. "That's a Christmas present enough."

There was something loudly speaking in the silence between them. It continued until a brightly smiling, young nurse entered the room. "Alright, then. Are you feeling ready to be discharged, Dr. Watson?"

"Yes!" both men swore in unison.

After filling out a insufferable amount of paperwork and swearing a thousand times over that he'd come back if his condition would worsen John was given the permission to leave. He wasted no time in getting to it. Sherlock stood in the sidelines while he pulled on his coat, clearly unsure as to what he was expected to do.

"So…", John sighed at last. "To Baker Street, then." Oh, how right those words felt, rolling off his tongue…!

Sherlock glanced towards him with a barely disguised hint of surprise. "What about Mary? Shouldn't you be with her?"

"She'll be working all night. And since I'm under the impression that I'll need someone to keep an eye on me…" John left the rest hanging.

For a second, two, three, Sherlock stared at him in a manner that left John wondering what the man saw. Then nodded. "Right. Let's go home." John didn't have the heart to correct that statement. Not when it was Christmas and they were both hurting.

'_Jingle Bells_' was playing merrily while they left the hospital, their steps in perfect sync and both feeling that despite their injuries, for a little while all was right in the world.

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><p><strong><em>End.<em>**

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><p>AN: LOL, it seems that I'm getting softer as I age. But it's nice to make those two happy for change! (chuckles)

Sooooo… Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know.

I'm afraid that this is about all I have time for. THANK YOU, so much, for reading! Who knows, maybe we'll cross paths again.

Take care!


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